


Love Bears All

by darkfaery



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romantic Friendship, Sexual Coercion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 04:20:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkfaery/pseuds/darkfaery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Months after Sherlock fakes his own death in 'The Reichenbach Fall' he returns to London and imposes on the hospitality of Molly Hooper. Soon a very-much-alive Jim Moriarty abducts them and subjects them to the ultimate humiliation. Through it all Sherlock discovers just how important Molly really is to him. Sherlolly, Jimlock. Rated Mature for coerced sexual situations, voyeurism, a little S&M, and language. COMPLETE!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Bears All

**Author's Note:**

> I love the idea of Sherlolly, but I wanted to keep everyone in character throughout. This twisted tale is what I came up with.

~*~

_"I am sorry. Forgive me. Merry Christmas, Molly Hooper."_

Soon after Sherlock holed himself up in his room with another red-wrapped present, leaving hers unopened, Molly said her goodbyes and went outside to wait for a taxi.

"I hate to say he can't help it-" said John, who had followed her out.

"But he sort of can't," she replied sadly. "My life would be so much easier if I could just hate him."

John put a brotherly arm around her shoulder and grinned. "But you can't."

Tears welled in her eyes, but she covered it with a rueful smile. "I suppose that makes me the biggest moron on the planet."

John shook his head. "Ah, no, that would be me—I live with the insufferable prick by choice, don't I? If it means anything, that's the first time I've ever heard him spontaneously apologize to anyone—a Christmas miracle if there ever was one."

Molly laughed and hugged him. "Happy Christmas, John."

John kissed her on the cheek—the other cheek—before he helped her into the taxi. "Happy Christmas Molly, and don't mind what he says, you look gorgeous tonight."

Molly nodded and looked away as John closed the taxi door. She wished more than anything to not mind what Sherlock Holmes said, but his words were like knives being twisted deep into her heart. One time she had a nightmare in which Sherlock reached inside her and pulled her heart right out of her chest. Laughing demonically he punted it like a football across the pathology lab—Bent it like Beckham, he did, before telling her to clean up the mess on his way out.

And that was one of the more romantic dreams she had had about him.

Molly knew that an apology and a kiss on the cheek was very likely going to be the highlight of their relationship. Best to quit while you're ahead, she thought to herself.

__

"You're wrong, you know. You do count. You've always counted and I've always trusted you."

"What do you need?"

"You."

His words had made her shiver with excitement and fear. The great Sherlock Holmes was asking little Molly Hooper for help! She had put her career on the line for him when she helped him fake his death, but she would have gladly laid down her life for him if it had kept him safe.

That had been three months ago and she hadn't heard from Sherlock since—not that she had expected to. He said he trusted her and perhaps she did matter to him in some small way, but the cold reality was that he had been in deep trouble and needed her unique position to help him get out of it.

Why had she fallen in love with him of all people? Her feelings for him refused to abate. She feared it was hopeless—not the possibility of a relationship with Sherlock, she had known that idea was doomed from the start. Her falling out of love with him was hopeless; she feared she would carry this dull ache of unrequited love to her grave.

"What a colossal prat you are, Molly Hooper," she said aloud as she entered her kitchen.

"What have you done this time?"

Molly screamed and jumped half a meter off the floor at the sight of Sherlock putting the kettle on to boil. She put her hands over her rapidly beating heart. "I—what…?" She sighed with exasperation, but it was useless to resist. "What do you need?"

"A sofa to sleep on. Yours is surprisingly comfortable." He smiled as he grabbed the tea tin out of the cupboard. "You don't mind if I stay a while, do you?"

"Uh, no, of course not."

That Sherlock Holmes was the world's worst houseguest was hardly a shock, but after a week even the ever-patient pathologist had had enough. Her normally tidy flat was a mess of books, newspapers, lab equipment, and body parts he had manipulated her into 'borrowing' from St. Bart's. When he wasn't conducting gruesome experiments, Sherlock was terrorizing her poor cat Toby with the Nerf dart gun she had bought him (Molly had confiscated the real gun he'd brought with him and fit with a silencer so he wouldn't bother the neighbors when he shot holes in her walls). Worst of all were his constant complaints of boredom.

"I think my head is about to implode I'm so bored," he whined as she made him tea one morning.

"You could clean the flat while I'm at work," Molly suggested.

"Booooring!" he replied as he shot a Nerf dart in her general direction. Molly had to restrain herself from dumping the mug of hot tea in his lap. It was like babysitting a three-year old! Too bad she couldn't buy him a Cornetto and a coloring book to keep him occupied.

"Well, I'm off," Molly announced.

Silence.

"Okay. Try not to kill my cat."

Sherlock grunted noncommittally.

Molly sighed as she opened door and walked down the stairs. Waiting outside for her was her old, supposedly dead 'boyfriend' Jim Moriarty, leaning against an old black Bentley. "H-hey, Jim. W-what are you doing here?" she said, trying to sound casual. "Still gay, are you?"

"Good Golly, Miss Molly! Long time no see," he replied, grinning widely. Then his smile slowly faded. "Call for him and tell him to come outside."

She shrugged nervously. "C-call who?"

Moriarty rolled his eyes. "Don't play dumb, Moll, it's redundant. Call him or the sniper perched across the street will shoot Sherlock in the head for realsies."

"Sherlock, come quickly! Help me, please!" Molly screamed as tears began to trickle down her cheeks. _"SHERRLOCK, HELP ME!"_

Sherlock heard Molly screaming the first time, but deduced she was not in immediate danger. Moriarty needed to lure him outside and a live Molly was the best way to do it. Unfortunately the master criminal now knew that Molly was important to him and very likely deduced her involvement in his faked suicide. Sherlock's greatest weakness—his kryptonite, if you will—was that he needed other people. He needed their unique skills and points of view, but he also needed their loyalty. Sometimes their very presence was a—what's the word—comfort, yes, they were a comfort to him. Sherlock scowled.

He had every intention of rescuing Molly but he needed a few things first. He lifted up the sofa cushions and retrieved the gun he'd brought with him and slipped it into his dressing gown pocket (Molly had hidden the gun well, but it took Sherlock exactly 46 seconds to find it after she'd gone to work). Then he ran into the kitchen and grabbed a serrated utility knife which he worked into the back waistband of his blue striped pyjama bottoms.

He shooed the damned cat away from the front door and slowly descended the stairs, realizing too late that he had neglected to put on his shoes. When he emerged from the building he stole a glance at Molly, standing as still as a statue. As he feared red laser lights hovered over her forehead and chest.

"I'm so sorry, Sherlock," she said tearfully. "He threatened you."

Both men ignored her as they locked eyes. Moriarty smiled dreamily. "I knew it wasn't true. I knew you couldn't be dead."

"I could say the same thing about you," Sherlock replied. "Pity."

Jim stuck out his bottom lip in a pout and clutched his heart as if wounded by Sherlock's words. "Get in the car, quick like a bunny! We're going on a field trip."

Sherlock glanced at Molly again.

"Don't worry, she's driving."

The detective took a step towards the car when Jim raised his hand. "Wait! Strip down to your skivvies."

Sherlock blinked in surprise. "My what?"

"Your undies, your tighty whities." Moriarty eyed Molly dangerously. "Do it."

Sherlock removed the dressing gown and let in fall to the ground with a thud.

Moriarty shook his head. "Armed and dangerous? Naughty, naughty. What do you think, Molly, boxers or briefs?"

Molly face colored a furious shade of red. "I-I've no idea"

"Guess!" Jim bellowed. The laser lights left her and settled between Sherlock's eyes.

"B-boxers," she stammered.

"That leaves me with briefs," Jim said with a shrug. "Come on, don't leave us in suspense." The laser lights returned to Molly's forehead.

Sherlock noticed that there was little traffic on the normally busy street—Moriarty's doing no doubt. For that he was grateful. He closed his eyes and sighed before he let his pyjama bottoms drop.

Jim jumped up and down with delight when Sherlock revealed his grey and blue checked boxer briefs. "We're both right!" Moriarty looked his nemesis up and down, his eyes resting on his crotch. "Rather anticlimactic, isn't it? To be fair it is a bit chilly." The master criminal opened the car door and motioned for Sherlock to get in the back seat. The detective reluctantly crawled inside. Though he was glad for the seat warmers and the fact that Moriarty allowed him to wear his t-shirt, Sherlock was disappointed though not surprised to see the bulletproof glass partition between the back seat and the front.

Molly got into the driver's seat, but hesitated before she started the car.

"You see this?" Jim showed her a small detonator he held in his hand. "Don't follow my directions to the letter and I'll fill the backseat with cyanide gas. Now drive."

They had driven for a few blocks when Moriarty rested his head on Molly's shoulder. "You still want him, don't you?" Jim asked matter-of-factly. Molly blushed but didn't answer him. "Hell, I still want him."

"So you are gay?" Molly said.

He sat back in his seat and grinned. "I prefer the word 'omnivorous.'"

While one small part of his brain barked directions at Molly, Jim retreated into his own mind palace with the rest of it. It was true he wanted Sherlock for his very own. He imagined the great detective bound and gagged, bent over a bed with his tight virgin ass in the air. Jim's dick twitched at the thought of fucking Sherlock until he bled.

So obvious, he had to admit to himself, and ultimately, so very boring. After he'd had him, then what? He looked over at Molly and giggled. This… _this_ would be a gift that kept on giving.

"When I last saw Sherlock on the roof of St. Bart's he told me that even though he was on the side of the angels he was most definitely not one of them," Jim told her. "You, on the other hand, are one of the angels. In fact you are one of Sherlock's Very Special Angels and I missed it. Can't blame me though, you're such an itsy bitsy, teeny weeny little _nothing_ …but you do matter to him. Go figure."

"I don't," Molly protested. "I'm just convenient. If you think he'll sacrifice himself for me, you're wrong."

Jim cocked his head to one side. "You really believe that. And it _kills_ you."

Somewhere in the East End, Molly drove up to an abandoned warehouse. When the locked gate opened automatically, she drove into the outer yard until Jim told her to stop the car. As if the snipers had followed them here, the red laser dot appeared on her forehead the moment she exited the car.

Moriarty opened the door for Sherlock and ordered him out. It was at that moment that Jim realized how hilariously English Sherlock was. Here he was out in the open in a t-shirt and undies doing his best to maintain his dignity, stiff upper lip and all.

"You must be wondering why I brought you here today," Jim began, waving his arms dramatically. He laughed. "I know you think of me as your arch enemy, Sherlock, but today I'm you're best bud." Moriarty put his arm around Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock stood as stiff as a rail. "Today, I'm going to do what best buds do for each other—I'm gonna get you laid. It's about damn time, don't you think?"

Sherlock looked away in disgust. "This is about you and me. Leave her out of this."

"I realize you must be disappointed by my choice of your first fuck, but ol' Moll here is a surprisingly fine piece of ass." Jim purred as he walked around her and brushed up against her. "Leave it to the quiet mousey ones to make the most noise in bed. 'Oh, oh Jim, right there— _right there!_ Don't stop, don't ever, _ever_ stop!'" He laughed derisively at Molly's mortified expression. "You have a lot of passion inside you, Molly, just waiting to be let out, but he always leaves you hanging…I know the feeling. Just when he promises release, he pulls out and leaves you cold and lonely. But not today! Today you get your heart's desire. You're welcome."

Molly turned on him angrily. "Sod off, you…you—!"

"You evil bastard, you!" Jim finished in a mocking falsetto. "Go on, kiss him. I know you want to—you dream of it. You can almost taste his lips on yours—"

Sherlock snorted. "Projecting much, Jim? Let her go and we can have that dance you've always wanted. And then we'll see who winds up on top."

"Oooo, Sherlock! You talk the talk, but can you deliver?" Jim put his finger on his chin. "That is a tempting offer, but seeing you squirm is a lot more fun. Kiss him, Molly."

"I won't!" Molly said defiantly. "Why don't you just kill me? I know you're going to anyway."

"Silly me, I should have known you'd throw your life away to spare him any embarrassment." The laser targets switched back to Sherlock. "Kiss him. Do it."

Sherlock looked down at Molly almost sympathetically. She had tears streaming down her face as she mumbled a string of apologies.

"Just do as he says," Sherlock told her, as discomfited by the situation as she was. She nodded, unable to look him in the eye. Hesitantly, Molly put her hands on his shoulders, stood on her toes and kissed him chastely on the mouth.

"Aww, come on, I want to see a little tongue." Molly glared at Jim with a lethal look, then looked up at Sherlock. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her, placing a moist kiss on his lips, but his were tightly closed. "Open your mouth a little, dammit!" she hissed.

Sherlock's breath hitched in his throat as he did so, his head buzzing as her tongue invaded his mouth. He tentatively touched her tongue with his, causing Molly to moan ever so slightly. She immediately pulled away. "Sorry."

"Young love, it does my evil heart good." Moriarty searched Sherlock's face. "That's the first time you've ever kissed a girl, isn't it old friend?"

Molly shook her head. "It's not," she said as if she didn't want the responsibility. "I'm sure it's not."

"Sad, isn't it?" Jim said. "A missed opportunity. It's amazing what sorts of information you can gain with sex, but you haven't even mastered the basics. Good thing you have ol' Jim here to facilitate your education. Take off your clothes, Molly."

Sherlock put up his hands. "No, don't!"

"What, you would rather die than see her naked?" Moriarty cackled. "Trust me the view ain't that bad, besides if she doesn't strip she dies." The laser targets moved back to Molly. Jim looked into the distance. "Jeez, just target them both!" he said to the invisible snipers. "All those lasers moving back and forth is making me dizzy." Multiple laser dots suddenly appeared on both of them. Jim turned back to Molly with a vile leer. "I'm waiting."

"Molly, do as he says," Sherlock mumbled.

She pulled her jumper over her head, then tried to fold it but her hands were shaking too badly. "Sorry."

"And for god's sake, stop apologizing!" Sherlock snapped. Moriarty was doing this to humiliate him in a way the master criminal knew would injure him deeply. Molly's violation was collateral damage. Sherlock tried to look away as Molly undressed but Moriarty wouldn't have it.

Now completely naked, Molly tried to cover herself with her hands, but Jim motioned for her to put her arms at her sides. "Now this, Sherlock, is a girl. Notice the small but shapely breasts and the perky bum. Go ahead, cop a feel." In the flood lights of the warehouse, Sherlock could see Molly's burning red cheeks and tears welling in her eyes that she was thankfully doing her best to hold back.

Sherlock had known for some time that Molly was infatuated with him, but she didn't want this any more than he did. Moreover she didn't deserve it, but he was at a loss. The best he could hope for was getting them both out of this alive. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth clumsily, then whispered in her ear. "Help me get through this."

She smiled up at him and guided his hands to her breasts. His fingers hovered there unsure what to do next. It wasn't that he didn't know what foreplay and coitus were about; he had studied all the great treatises on the subject from the _Kama Sutra_ to _The Joy of Sex_ when he was 16 years old. He had tackled it with the same intellectual detachment he did most subjects.

But this was different. This was real…

Worse yet, it was Molly…

Moriarty rolled his eyes. "For fuck's sake, Sherlock, suck her tits, squeeze her ass, do something! Here let me show you." Jim swung Molly around and was just about to molest her when Sherlock punched him in the mouth so hard Jim fell on his backside. Sherlock then took off his t-shirt and gave it to her. After she put it on, he took Molly into his arms in a useless effort to shield her from harm. Molly buried her face in his bare chest and let one choked sob escape.

Moriarty held up his hand to call off his snipers as he wiped the blood off his mouth with the back of his hand. "So chivalry isn't dead. How pedestrian of you." But Sherlock could tell he was surprised by his actions. Good, as long as Moriarty wasn't bored, Sherlock could keep he and Molly alive.

Moriarty dusted himself off and grinned. "Time to take this party inside."

Sherlock and Molly were led into a part of the warehouse that had been converted into a comfortable living space. There were cameras everywhere and, Sherlock assumed, unseen assassins ready to kill them both if and when Moriarty gave the word.

Through another door was a tastefully decorated bedroom. The cream colored comforter was covered in rose petals and on the bedside dresser was a bottle of champagne chilling on ice. Sherlock turned and realized that Moriarty had slipped inside an anteroom separated from the bedroom by a one-way mirror. Apparently the consulting criminal was a voyeur in addition to his many other failings. Hardly surprising.

As if on cue, Jim's voice reverberated in the room. "I should have known you madcap kids weren't exhibitionists; you need a little privacy to get off, and get off you will or one of you will die. Haven't decided which—oh yes I have. You two have fun and don't try to fake it Moll, remember I've heard the real deal."

"Why are you doing this to us!" Molly cried.

"To humiliate me," Sherlock replied.

"And I just happen to be convenient as always," Molly countered angrily. "For the record, I don't want you either!"

Sherlock raised an arrogant eyebrow and smirked.

Molly looked down at her feet in order to escape his scathing look. "I-I meant, not like this."

"I know perfectly well what you meant," Sherlock snapped. "But now that you have me you might as well enjoy me."

Quite unexpectedly Molly turned on him and slapped him hard across the face. Apparently he had crossed one of those lines John had always warned him about.

"If you think I'm enjoying any of this then you are _sick!_ " She sank down on the bed and began to blubber uncontrollably.

Suddenly the light in the anteroom came on allowing Sherlock to see Moriarty clearly. His archenemy motioned with his finger for Sherlock to come closer.

"You want to know why I'm doing this?" Jim whispered when they stood face to face, with only the glass separating them. "You hid her from me in plain sight. She helped you cheat death and you both deserve to be punished. I told you I would burn the heart out of you, Sherlock. She's just the juicy little piece I missed."

"Let her go and you can do whatever you want with me." Sherlock surprised himself at the vehemence with which he said it.

"I don't think so. Nice people are so much fun to play with, besides she dumped me and I'm still feeling a tad wounded. You can bang her and you both live or I can torture her to death in ways even you couldn't imagine. Of course I'd make you watch and then I'd let you live with the memory…and the guilt. What'll be, Big Boy?"

The light went off obscuring Moriarty once more, though Sherlock could feel him still standing there, waiting for his next move. With a bracing deep breath, Sherlock went back to Molly's side. Her tears had hardly abated. "Please Molly, please, forgive me." He said sincerely. "I didn't mean what I said, I hardly ever do when I say things like that-you know that better than anyone."

Molly dried her tears on Sherlock's t-shirt. "He's going to kill me isn't he?"

"Please just lay down."

"Sherlock—" With a sigh Molly lay down and looked up at him dubiously. He crawled on the bed and straddled her, unsure what to do next. He closed his eyes and bent down to kiss her clumsily, then sat back up again. Apparently his attempt at foreplay was unsuccessful because Molly didn't look the least bit aroused and he felt nary a stir in his nether regions.

"Really, Sherlock?" Moriarty cackled. "Two squirrels humping in a tree are sexier than this. I'm getting very, very bored people, time to get freaky or else."

Molly curled up in a ball. "Oh, don't bother."

It suddenly dawned on Sherlock that reading about sex was most definitely not the same as actually doing it. "All right, I admit it. I have no idea what I'm doing." The words left a bad taste in his mouth. "Surely you can whip up a little enthusiasm for this. I know you're infatuated with me, surely you've fantasized about this before."

Molly bolted upright. "Infatuated?! Is that what you think?" For a second, Sherlock thought she was going to slap him again. The anger and pain in her eyes was familiar but the intensity was like nothing he'd ever seen before. "I love you like I've never loved anyone and I would give anything not to. I don't fantasize about us. There is no us—we're not even friends. You just use me and manipulate me and I let you do it, because every so often you do or say something vaguely human that gives me the hope that someday—"

Perhaps it was the passion of Molly's words that motivated him; perhaps it was because no one except his parents had ever told him they loved him before. Whatever the spark, Sherlock's hard drive of a brain instantly recalled everything he had ever observed or read about kissing and applied it to Molly Hooper's lips. With a sweet whimper her mouth opened to grant access to his tongue. He figured he must have been doing it right because she pulled him closer to her and began to run her hands through his hair. They both heard Moriarty's catcalls, but paid them no heed. Sherlock encircled her waist then lowered his hands past the curve of her buttocks, so round and inviting. His head started buzzing again as the blood rushed from his head to destinations south.

Just when Sherlock was finally getting the hang of it, his efforts were rudely interrupted by the deafening sound of a vuvuzela being blown into a microphone, which killed his nascent erection.

"You're improving," Jim mocked. "Instead of two squirrels humping you look like two chimpanzees grooming each other."

Sherlock got up and marched to the one-way mirror. "You're jealous. I knew you'd never be satisfied with just watching. Do you think this little plan of yours will turn Molly against me? You'll no doubt have a laugh at my sexual ineptitude, but I'll manage it. It will be awkward, of course, between Molly and me, but it always is. She'll forgive and forget because that's what she does. This will all be for naught. So just let her go and take me, Jim. I know you want to. Humiliate me, hurt me… _fuck_ me." He stood there for a full minute, but Moriarty did not respond. Sherlock returned to Molly's side.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" she asked.

"Nothing," he replied. "Just—just lay down so we can get this over with."

"Change of plans, people!" Moriarty emerged from the anteroom, then pressed 'send' on his phone. A moment later a guard came through the door holding Molly's clothes.

"Get dressed, Molly." She looked at Sherlock in confusion. Sherlock merely nodded. The guard had the good manners to turn away while she dressed, but Sherlock didn't take his eyes off her. Jim was too busy watching Sherlock to notice Molly. Molly gave Sherlock's grey t-shirt back to him, but he didn't bother to put it on. The guard grabbed her roughly by the arm and tried to pull her outside, but she resisted.

"Wait, Sherlock," she said. "I'm not leaving without you."

"You have no choice," Jim said. "Take her home. Make certain she doesn't leave or communicate with anyone for the rest of the day or bad things will happen."

The man nodded and forced Molly through the door as she yelled Sherlock's name.

"No harm had better come to her," Sherlock rumbled.

Jim put his hands in his pockets and circled his enemy. "I'm a man of my word. You had better be too."

Jim closed the short distance between them, reached out and ran his fingertips from the hollow of Sherlock's throat, down his chest and stomach, until they rested just inside the waistband of his underwear. Jim looked up at him with half-lidded eyes and pouting lips. "Kiss me like you mean it."

Sherlock turned away in disgust. Moriarty grabbed a handful of Sherlock's hair and yanked him down so the master criminal could lick his cheek. Then he kicked Sherlock's leg out from under him causing him to fall back onto the bed. Sherlock didn't attempt to defend himself, but he was allowing this to happen. He was in control…

"On your hands and knees," Jim ordered. Sherlock did as he was told and tried to focus on a spot on the wall above the headboard. He heard Moriarty undo his belt, then felt him pull down his underwear roughly. "This is what I wanted all along, I just wanted you to beg for it."

 _CRACK!_ The belt came down on his tender flesh, but Sherlock did not flinch.

 _CRACK!_ Another blow, but not a sound came out of the detective's mouth. Jim had to admire Sherlock's resolve, but it would falter as the day wore on. Moriarty would make certain of it.

~*~

Even though she knew there was a sniper across the street aiming at her, Molly didn't move from her flat window since Moriarty's thug had driven her home. She feared she would never see Sherlock again, but refused give up hope.

Her heart leapt into her throat when a black car drove up to her building well after dark. A figure she immediately recognized as Sherlock emerged from the back seat. He was wrapped in a sheet. Molly ran to the front door and almost opened it, but remembered Moriarty's warning not to leave the flat, so she just waited for his arrival. As soon as he opened the door Molly could tell something was dreadfully wrong, but decided not to press him about what happened until he had time to settle and have a cup of tea.

Molly held up his dressing gown. "It was still outside when I got back but the gun was gone. I laundered it for you."

Sherlock shook his head. "I need to shower." He dropped the sheet to the ground. "Burn that, burn everything." As he walked down the short hall to the bathroom Molly noticed blood was seeping through his t-shirt.

"Oh my god, you're hurt!"

"Leave off, Molly!" Sherlock snapped then locked himself in the bathroom. Sherlock scrubbed the bite wounds, welts, and scratches Moriarty had inflicted upon him until his skin was raw. The pain nauseated him, but the memory of that bastard violating him pushed him over the edge. He hadn't eaten in over 24 hours so all he vomited was stomach acid which burned his throat.

"Sherlock!" Molly cried, frantically banging on the door. "Are you okay?"

He leaned against the shower wall, laughing and crying at the same. "I am as far from okay as it is possible to be. Do you have a first aid kit?"

When he finally emerged from the bathroom with a towel around his waist, Molly was waiting with the first aid kit and a cup of tea. She choked back tears as she dressed his wounds. "I swear to god, if I ever see that psychopath again I'll kill him."

"No you won't," Sherlock said, wincing at the sting of the antiseptic. "That will be my pleasure."

"You should go to hospital," Molly said. "You need the hepatitis B vaccine and antibiotics."

"You'll take care of that for me, won't you?"

"Of course." Molly hesitated before asking her next question. "Did he…use protection?"

"No."

"You need to get tested."

"You'll take care of that too."

Molly burst into tears. "Oh, god Sherlock, why? Why would you let him do this to you?"

"I didn't think I could manage it—I know I said I could, but not with him watching, commenting, blowing that stupid horn. And if I didn't manage it, he would have hurt you, badly. I couldn't bear that."

"But you can bear this?" she sobbed.

"I was the one in control," he said fervently as if to convince himself though his shaking hands belied his words. "I can always bear that."

"I'll sleep on the sofa tonight," Molly said softly. "You rest while I go to St. Bart's."

"Do not coddle me like some common—" He was about to say 'rape victim', but the words stuck in his throat. It wasn't rape, Sherlock reminded himself. _I consented. I'm not a victim, goddamn it!_

As soon as Molly dressed his wounds and fixed him soup (which he refused to eat), she went to St. Bart's with a vial of Sherlock's blood. After she dropped that off along with a forged lab requisition she went to the ER and retrieved the necessary medications and dressing supplies. When she returned home she was glad to see Sherlock sleeping. She was loath to wake him, but he needed the vaccine and antibiotics. He sat up in bed and let her minister to him.

"You'll need the entire series of hep B vaccinations for it to be effective," she said, unused to live patients. "I'll have your HIV results tomorrow. You'll need to get tested again in about six months. It's just a precaution, I'm sure you'll be okay."

"Wonderful," Sherlock said with a flat affect.

She placed a comforting hand on his arm before turning to go.

"Molly?"

She turned around and looked at him expectantly. "What do you need?"

Without betraying his tumultuous emotions on his face, Sherlock pulled the duvet aside and held out his hand. Confused Molly took it and allowed him to lead her into bed next to him. "You have condoms in your bedside dresser. I need something else to remember this day by."

Molly touched his cheek. "Are you sure?"

In reply, Sherlock kissed her, his efforts far less tentative than they were this morning. After she undressed, Molly caressed him gently, careful to avoid his wounds, then she stroked his member with her hand and took him into her mouth. He could feel the love and caring in her touch, so unlike him. Sherlock swallowed hard and thrust forward instinctively. He looked down and watched Molly working so hard to please him as she always did. Molly, who always counted… _Oh, dear Molly…_

She raised her head while keeping hold of the base of his member to prevent him from coming too soon. "Are you ready?"

Sherlock threw his head back and nodded. Thankfully she helped him put on the condom and guided him inside her. He buried his face in her shoulder as he entered her; his thrusts were irregular and clumsy at first, but Molly directed him into a smoother rhythm. He felt her slip her hand between her legs, which aroused him further. He didn't last much longer after that. With a grunt he came, his orgasm releasing what felt like years of pent up frustration. He wondered if Molly found release as well, but was afraid to ask. She was smiling so he couldn't have been a complete disaster.

"Better?" she asked as she brushed a damp curl from his face.

He nodded once and turned on his side. With all his glib intelligence Sherlock would never be able to express just how much better his life was with Molly Hooper in it.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this story, please check out my Sherlock/Frankenstein (Nick Dear) work-in-progress 'The Case of the Imperfect Beauty.'


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